Raised by birders

My first word was a four-letter word. Little did I realize that this one word would have such an enormous effect on my life: on my upbringing, my sense of humor, my view of the world, and my family road trips. The precious little word that, much to my mother’s delight, was the first to ever escape my lips — bird.

The word, so simple, so delicate, for many invokes a lovely image, one of feathers, song, or the freedom of flight. For me, however, it means and will always mean so much more. Mine was no ordinary childhood because my parents were no ordinary parents. They were, still are, and always will be — capital-O Ornithologists.

The horror.

To say my folks are birders is an understatement. From my perspective, every aspect of our life was somehow connected to birds.

My father, Alan Craig, edited the journal for 17 years and was one of the founders of California Field Ornithologists, which later became Western Field Ornithologists. He worked for California Fish and Game (now the California Department of Fish and Wildlife) on endangered